


Patch Job

by ratbat



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Brother Feels, Character Study, Child Abuse, Child!Murdoc Niccals, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Half-Siblings, Heavy Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I guess lmfao, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pre-Gorillaz, Protectiveness, Smoking, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Very graphic, sebastian cunt niccals legit just shows up to be a bastard lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 03:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbat/pseuds/ratbat
Summary: Hannibal happens to arrive home late one night, to Murdoc's misfortune.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A missing scene for a fic i have yet to write, i know, i know. But it's a good stand-alone so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Pay attention to the warnings, I'm not listing them again down here.
> 
> Also go easy on me, im not British but i _tried_

Hannibal turned the key in the lock and shoved the door in. The house was dark save for the buzzing glow of the television. He glanced over and saw the outline of his dad's greasy head of hair, haloed in flickering white light.

He scoffed to himself, closing the door and turning the deadbolt locked.

“You're late.” He heard his father's creaking, slurring voice from the couch.

He rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Late for what? Did I have a bloody appointment?”

His father scoffed loudly. “Don't talk to me that way, boy.”

Hannibal's upper lip twisted. “Well I was workin’, whaddya think? _Someone's_ gotta pay the bills 'round here, yeah?”

He knew he was pushing it, but he was tired and a little pissy. _Sebastian_ shouldn't talk to _him_ that way, especially considering how much he was taking over every responsibility imaginable, but he'd never say it.

Either way, his father didn't comment on his _disrespectful_ tone.

Hannibal made his way over to his and Murdoc's room. Little blighter was probably asleep by now. Lucky bastard.

“Where were you, Hannibal?” His father started up again.

 _None of your damn business_. He wanted to snap. After all, it's not like he interrogated his father every late night he stumbled in drunk and cashless.

Instead he said. “Had to work late tonight. Stock the shop. Bloody customers wouldn't leave.”

“Took that long, huh?”

“Well, I'm here _now_ ain't I?”

He saw his father put a cigarette to his lips, and inhale.

If he wasn't such a piece of shit...well Hannibal could go for a fag and a little telly too. But that was an idle, impossible fantasy. He'd have to have a smoke tomorrow, or in bed. He didn't want to rouse Murdoc though. He'd demand Hannibal share, and probably not shut up after that.

Maybe he shouldn't have come home so soon. He coulda had a smoke out in the night, think of more pleasant things. Like the arse of that boy he fancied in tight jeans grinding his cock to sweet music at a shitty party somewhere.

Well. Too late now.

His father seemed to have lost interest in harassing him, because he was silent. 

Hannibal rolled his eyes. “Well, night then.” _Ya soddin’ mangey old soak._

He reached the door to his room, his hand on the knob.

He suddenly hear a shriek from behind him, followed by a loud broken sob, and then the sound of something being kicked.

“Thought i told ya to _shut your mouth_ you little brat!”

He turned around.

Murdoc was kneeling on the floor beside his father's legs, his arm wrenched up over the couch cushion, pulled back by his father's crooked hand circling his wrist. He was crying, fat tears rolling down his face. There were little raised spots littering his his arm.

“H-h... _Hans_ …” his voice cracked, and descended into more sobs.

His father had a burned down cigarette in his free hand. He drove his knee into the side of Murdoc's head.  “ _Shut up_! Filthy little faggot!”

He tossed the spent fag on the floor with a pile of others, and immediately began lighting up another. Murdoc whimpered, flinching away.

Hannibal was still from shock for a moment. but only a moment.

He stomped over to the couch and wrenched his brother's arm out of his father's grasp. “What the bloody _fuck_ dad!”  

“Oi! don't you touch me!” Sebastian snapped.

Hannibal pulled Murdoc up and let him go immediately. He retreated behind his older brother, clutching Hannibal's jacket, and sobbing into it. his whole body trembled.

Sebastian scoffed, then went back to lazily lighting up a cigarette, as if nothing was wrong at all.

Hannibal fell into a wild rage. “What the _fuck_ were you _bloody thinking_ you _mad_ _sick fuck_!”

His father took a drag on his cigarette. “Just teaching the ungrateful little bastard a lesson.” He pointed the lit cig at Hannibal, making Murdoc whimper and hide himself behind his brother. “and keep on like that. You'll earn yourself a lesson too.”

“You sodding bloody bastard.” Hannibal growled. “I'd like to see you try at any rate!”

“Well you will soon enough if you're not careful.”

“You piece of shit! This is too bloody far!” His father had put out cigs on Murdoc before, on both of them in fact, but this was something different.

Now wasn't the time for an argument though. Better to stuff his pride and get a door between him and the mad drunken sadistic mingebag.  

Sebastian scoffed. “The boy can take it. He needs it! Unruly whelp.”

Hannibal bit back his fury and his retorts and the urge to ram his fist into that ugly smug face. He scanned the room for Murdoc's backpack and coat and located them not far from the door of their room. He snatched them up, took out his key ring, undid the 4 locks quickly, and backed himself and Murdoc inside the threshold.

“Fuck you! sodding cunt! _Rot in hell_!”

Before his dad could respond, he slammed the door and bolted it, clicking the 10 locks into place top down, one after another.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal heard swearing and the sound of a bottle breaking against the door, but nothing more. Sebastian clearly wanted to watch television more than he wanted to get even.

Hannibal exhaled, dropping Murdoc’s things and running his hand through his hair.  He glanced behind him. Murdoc was just standing there, shaking and crying.

Hannibal put his hand on his shoulder, but Murdoc flinched away. Hannibal didn't know how else to comfort him, so he got right to the point.

“Let me see.” he said, grabbing Murdoc's arm.

Murdoc hissed and ripped it out of Hannibal's grasp.

“Let me _see_ you stupid git!” he snapped.

Murdoc scowled through his tears, pulling his arm close and backing away.

Hannibal sighed. "Just...let me take a look, Muds. I wouldn't….I just wanna get you patched up, alright?"

He held out his hand.

Murdoc eventually stepped up and laid out his arm.

A bruise had already formed on his wrist, which Hannibal took care to avoid. He gingerly looked it over.

Fuck...there were so many burns. Most were already blisters. They blanketed his arm like some sort of pox.

Murdoc mumbled. "Went through a pack and a half…" He wiped at his eye. "Why weren't you here, _arsehole_?" His tone was angry and accusatory, but it was undercut when he sniffled.

Hannibal glared all the same. "I was at _work_ , you sod! Don't you put this on _me_ ! Am i supposed to mind you every second of every day?" He turned his arm over. "Why did _you_ come home? I told you never to come home without me!"

Murdoc sniffled again. "I...wanted to watch television...i thought...i thought…" he whispered. " _Thought dad was out drinking.._."

Hannibal sighed. He went quiet as he stared at the blistered little limb in front of him. He turned it back over and noticed more of them on Murdoc's palm.

He cursed, which made Murdoc flinch.

It'd been a while since Hannibal had this much pity wrung from his calloused little heart. But it seemed impossible for it not to be. What kind of _animal_ would do this to a kid…

Sometimes he had moments like that. When he forgot how things _really_ worked. But still. This was particularly cruel somehow.

"Evil bastard." He hissed. "Ill bloody _kill him…_ "  

Murdoc let out a quiet sob, one he couldn't quite quell.

Hannibal had an overwhelming urge to comfort him, he just wasn't quite sure how that sort of thing worked.

"Did he do anything else? He kicked you...that's right...show me that."

Murdoc seemed nervous at the prospect of anymore displays of vulnerability. He took his arm back and hesitated.

Hannibal found it within himself to be patient. "Just wanna help, Muds. Alright? I'm not gonna hurt you."

He wish he could say _i would_ never _hurt you_ , but he was too rotten for that. At least he could say he'd never do anything like _this_. But that wasn't probably reassuring.

Finally, Murdoc lifted his shirt. A solid bruise has already formed over his ribs. Hannibal assessed it silently. "How bad does it hurt?"

"Ain’t broken…" He muttered. "If that's what you're askin'..."

Hannibal nodded. "Alright..anything else?"

He caught sight of a bruise on the side of Murdoc's face. He reached for Murdoc's chin, but he pulled away.

"Muds, let me see... _please…_ "

Murdoc bit his lip. He turned to face Hannibal. His eyes were red, everything underneath them puffy and still teary.

He did seem to just have the one bruise though…

That was when he saw the blisters on Murdoc's cheek.

"that _fucking..._ " Hannibal was shaking with fury. He wanted to take a swing at something, _anything_.

Murdoc closed his eyes, new tears forming in the corners. "Got me on the back of the neck too." His voice cracked at the end.

Hannibal checked. Sure enough, there were 3...no, _4_ little blisters on the nape of his neck. The little soft hairs that grew there were singed.

Hannibal thought he never felt more hatred or disgust than right at that moment. A beating he could understand the reasoning behind, could understand the rage and impulse at the source of it. He could even understand a cigarette burn or two. He could wrap his head around it all, things being thrown or broken…

But not _this._ This was sadistic. _Calculated_ . It had to have taken at least a couple of hours to bury this many burns on...a _child_ …

Sometimes Hannibal wasn't sure how much that mattered, the age of someone. You needed a lesson, you’d get one. But he remembered being that young, some of the dread and fear and how potent it could be. It was a time you were small enough for anyone to do what they wanted with you, and your emotions were raw and more poorly hidden than they'd ever be again.  

Mattering or not mattering...2 full hours of a kid kneeling on the floor crying and, he assumed, pleading...and to just keep going on like that, watching television…

He used him as an ashtray for _hours_ , and seemed ready to do it even longer.

Murdoc hiccuped and starting sobbing. " _It's not_ _bloody_ _fair…_ " he said softly. "I didn't...it's not _fair_ …" He cried. "If everyone hates me so much...why don't they just get _rid of me…_ "  

Hannibal really didn't think it came from hatred exactly. He didn't think it affected their father enough emotionally to even count as that.

But he wouldn't say that. Because it was a dreadful thought. And Murdoc needed to sleep after this.

"Well i don't hate you." He said softly.

Murdoc sniffled. "Sure you do."

"What sort of daft thing is that to say?" Hannibal scoffed. "Do you think I look after you for my _health_?"

Murdoc stared at the floor. He wrapped his good arm over his chest and clutched the upper arm of his bad one.

"You...well you've gotta hate me _sometimes_ …"

Hannibal snorted. "You piss me off...but I wouldn't say I _hate_ you…"

Murdoc said nothing.

Hannibal reached out and ran his hand over Murdoc's shoulder. Murdoc went stiff, but he didn't shake him off. He relaxed into it eventually, seemingly grateful for the contact.

It was a strange feeling, these sorts of moments. Hannibal wasn't used to it. They didn't feel like they _belonged_ to people like them. But they weren't bad he supposed.

Still, he wasn't sure how to figure them all out or keep them up. So no point in bothering.

“Well," Hannibal said after a bit, "go rinse off. I’ll bandage you up, and then we’ll both be off to bed, alright?”

Bed sounded nice right about now. The weight of the day seemed to finally catch up to Hannibal, settling in his bones. Every part of his body felt strangely heavy.

Murdoc nodded, and made his way over to the basin in the lav connected to their room.

Hannibal took off his coat and shirt, kicked off his shoes, and slid out of his jeans, until he was in nothing but boxers and a stained vest. He heard the faucet running, and Murdoc’s poorly disguised sobs underneath it. He tuned it out.

He knelt down and pulled a box out from under the bed. He popped it open and snapped up some gauze and a roll of bandages.

He heard the water shut off behind him. When he looked up, Murdoc had stepped back into their room. His face was a little puffy, but the tears had been all wiped away. He looked blank, like all the emotion had been wrung out of him.

“C’mere.” Hannibal gestured, and Murdoc obeyed.

Murdoc glanced at the bandages, and muttered. “Well it aint _that_ bad…”  
  
Hannibal scoffed. “It _is_ , an besides, do you know how many plasters this would take? Don’t argue with me on this.”  
  
Murdoc rolled his eyes, but held out his arm all the same. That normally would have been irritating, but right now all Hannibal felt was relief. Muds was still himself. Their father hadn’t _broken_ him, that was for sure.

Hannibal didn’t know if he could handle that dull eyed stare he’d caught sight of if it lasted. And he still didn’t know what to do with him terrified and crying and _hopeless_ like he was before. Maybe because he didn’t have a good answer to any of it.

He laid down the gauze and rolled out the strip of bandage. “Now, go easy on these, they’ll heal up soon enough,” he gestured at Murdoc with the gauze in his hand, “ _don’t pop them,_ don't even _pick at 'em_ , that slows the healing, i don’t care how much they itch…”  
  
Murdoc rolled his eyes again. “I’m not dead from the neck up Hans, I’ve had cig burns before.”  
  
Hannibal exhaled. Alright, maybe it was a little annoying. Git. “I’m just reminding you-”  
  
“Well I don’t _need_ a reminder-”

“Would you shuddup for a minute and _listen to me_!”

Murdoc flinched, and Hannibal softened his voice.  "Look...it's...it's not your fault the idiot who stuck our mothers is a heartless cunt, and this,” he gestured to Murdoc’s arm, “is _vile_...but you can't be stupid about it!"

Murdoc scowled. “I ain’t stupid.”

“Well what do you call tonight, hrm?” he ripped the bandage with his teeth and folded it over. “Dad’s off his bloody rocker and I don’t wanna come home and find you laid out on the floor again, or _worse_ , because I don’t know what’s going on inside that sadistic, liquored up brain of his, but it ain’t nothin’ _good,_ i’ll tell you that much.”

He moved on to Murdoc’s palm. “You can’t come home without me, you understand? Not ever. Not for _telly_ , not for _drinks,_ or _smokes_ , not even if the house is on _bloody fire_! You got that?”

he shook the roll of bandages in his direction again. “I ain’t gonna be puttin you back together every time you get a stupid idea in that empty head of yours, if I even _can_ after dad’s done with ya!” he shook the bandages to punctuate his words. “So don’t. Even. Think. 'Bout it. _Ever._ Got it?"  
  
Murdoc was biting his lip, staring at the wall.

“You hearin’ me, Faceache? You gormless git?”  
  
Murdoc turned to face him, scowling. “I _do_! Arsehole! I got it, alright?” he stared at the floor, pouting. “Don’t need to be such a prat about it…”  

Hannibal snorted. He pressed gauze into Murdoc’s hand, which made him hiss and flinch. "Watch it! You sod!”

“ _You’re_ the bleedin' sod!” Hannibal snapped.  
  
“You did that on purpose!” 

“Well maybe i _should ‘ave_ ,” Hannibal sneered.

Murdoc glared daggers at him, and then went right back to pouting. Clearly their father hadn’t burned all the rebellion out of him.

Still, Hannibal prefered _this_ Murdoc to a tamed one. A glassy-eyed, quiet one. And surely to a _dead_ one. He didn’t even want to consider the possibility, any of them really.

Once he finished with the hand, he moved onto the blisters on Murdoc’s face. He winced at the thought of them again. _He_ certainly didn’t have it in him to do something like that. Whether that made him decent or just weak, he didn’t know.

“So we’ve agreed then. You come home with me, or not at all. I don’t care if dad’s out or not. He could just as easily be _back_ and then where would you be?”  
  
Murdoc glowered at him from under his stupid fringe. “Well what’m I supposed to do then? Sit around that manky shop, bored out of my skull while you flip through that _Mandate_ mag or whatever trash you’ve got ahold of.”

Hannibal smacked him.

“Ow! Tosser!” Murdoc rubbed his head.

“I _mean_ it, you blathering idiot! You wait ‘till I'm off work! I’m not doing this for my own amusement! You think I wanna _mind ya_ on my _shift_?"

“I’ll go _mad_ with boredom. I’ll _die_ of it!” Murdoc grumbled. “Maybe I oughta let dad throttle me, it’d be _quicker_.”

Hannibal finally got the plaster across Murdoc’s face, drawing a wince from him. “Well, bring some rag of your own to read.”

“Like _what_ ?”  
  
“Do i have to do all your thinking for you? Bring _something_ to do! Knobhead!” he gently pushed Murdoc around to the side so he could attend to the burns on his neck. “Find a way to entertain yourself. _Quietly_ .”  
  
Murdoc snorted. “So go mad from boredom then, got it.”  
  
“Well find something else to get up to then! Wander around, throw rocks at cats, vandalize something, I don’t care! Maybe make some _friends_ for once, mooch off _them_ instead of _me_ , how’s _that_ for an idea,” he dug out a big plaster and peeled it out of the wrapper, "I dunno, maybe you could be a good little tyke for a change and join some club at school. Whatever. _Figure it out_ .”

Hannibal lifted the back of Murdoc’s hair. He paused, staring at those four little blisters for a bit. He felt something inside him twist up, and his jaw set.  
“Hans?”

He exhaled, trying to get his head back on straight. Now wasn't the time.

"Whaddya want _now_ , dumbfuck?" Hannibal said.

Murdoc scoffed. "Just ain't used to you goin' so long without flapping your tongue is all."

Hannibal couldn't find it in himself to cuff him. Not while his gaze was fixed on those four little burns.

He elected to scoff back, and then carefully stuck the plaster onto the soft part of Murdoc's neck. "There we go, you're all fixed up now. Off to bed."

He patted Murdoc's shoulder. To his credit, he didn't flinch again.

Before he could withdraw it, Murdoc reached out and set his hand over Hannibal's. He didn't look up at him.

"Hans…" Murdoc's voice was very soft and fragile, almost inaudible.

"Yeah, Muds?"

Murdoc was quiet for a while.

"...nothing." And that was the end of it.

But Hannibal got the point well enough.  


 


End file.
